


Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

by StressFest426



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Eventual Smut, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jackson Whittemore Not Being an Asshole, M/M, Mates, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-01-29 07:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21406483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StressFest426/pseuds/StressFest426
Summary: The military was all the family Derek would ever need, or so he thought. When a strange trio blow onto the scene, the Hales will have to reconsider their carefully constructed world. Oh, and there's a terrorist on the loose.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Cora Hale/Isaac Lahey, Danny Mahealani/Jackson Whittemore, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Jordan Parrish/Kira Yukimura, Laura Hale/Lydia Martin, Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	1. An Explosive Entrance

“I told you to avoid that pothole!”  
“Have you seen the road? It’s all pothole!”  
Derek rolled his eyes, feeling a headache coming on with this, the newest of Scott and Cora’s arguments.  
“I said swerve right weave left.” Cora shouted, mimicking the directions as if her hand was the humvee. Scott watched, confusion etched into his sweaty, dirt-covered face.  
“I did that!” He protested, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand while emphatically waving the other.  
“No, you wove right and swerved left!”  
“What the hell is the difference?!”  
“Would you both just shut the hell up and fix it?” Derek grunted, the heat and unrelenting sun removing his sense of humor.   
“Sorry, Jacks.” They both muttered, looking apologetically to Jackson who had singlehandedly begun jacking up the humvee and removing the flat tire. Derek dragged his forearm across his forehead, reaching underneath his helmet to wipe away sweat. They had broken down at the edge of the city and without any shade, the stagnant air and the direct sunlight was growing more and more intolerable.   
Boyd reached the broken lead vehicle, looking pensively at the six humvees and one truck that composed the company. “CP wants to know how long till we’re Oscar Mike.”  
Derek nodded and turned to Jackson. “How long?”   
“Ten minutes.” Jackson pulled the flat off as Scott came around the humvee, rolling the spare.  
Derek looked at his watch. They were already overdue to reach the FOB, situated about fifteen klicks north. If they delayed too much more, they could get caught out in the dark.   
“Ok.” He pinched his radio. “Bravo to Alpha, we will be another ten, how copy?”  
Static filled the radio for a moment and then a response filled it. “Solid copy Bravo. Charlie is already home. Delta is still rolling through the NZ.”   
Derek let the radio go dead and the pinched it again. “Copy Alpha.” He looked over his shoulder at Jehathza, taking in its enormity and alien aesthetic. Three years in country and he still couldn’t get over how different it was from Beacon Hills. The air was always fouler, hotter, more violate. The constant noise of the city also set his teeth on edge.   
This wasn’t the worst place to break down, but it surely wasn’t his favorite. The expanse of flat brush and sand between the city and the road offered a good vantage to anticipate an attack, but gave them no cover.  
Boyd knocked his shoulder against Derek’s, acknowledging their shared anxiety.   
A gust of wind suddenly picked up, blowing directly from the city, and Derek was overwhelmed. A single scent in the mix, like honey and warm clove, assaulted his nose, crushing his heart and lungs in a vice. He nearly fell to his knees.   
“Derek?” Boyd was at his shoulder in an instant, gripping his bicep in support. “What is it?”  
“Do you smell that?” Derek barely breathed as he spoke, trying to block out the scent. Boyd lifted his nose and took a long breath.   
“No. What is it?”   
Derek took a small, careful whiff. He again was nearly bowled over. “Like cinnamon and fresh grass.” He struggled to put the extraordinary into words. Boyd looked carefully at him.   
“Like home?” Derek’s eyes flew open.   
“How did you know?”  
“DEREK!” Boyd and Derek barely had time to look over at Cora before the blast threw them back. Derek felt the power of it rip through him, cracking like lightning and boiling his blood. His ribs broke before he hit the ground. His arm broke after.   
He could barely breath when he woke. The dust danced in the air so thick, it was impossible to tell if it was day or night. Derek’s head pounded and the ringing in his ears made it hard to hear the others.   
“Cora?”  
A cough. “Here.” It was to his left. “I’m here.”  
Derek pinched his radio. It disintegrated in his hands. “Is your radio intact?”  
“No. Goddamn blast.”  
Derek hauled himself off the ground, stumbling as he found his balance. He could feel his arm and ribs knitting back together.   
“SIT REP!”   
“Gunnery Sargent Boyd ok!” Boys called from somewhere behind him.   
“Corporal McCall ok!”  
“Corporal Hale ok!”  
“Corporal Whittemore ok!”  
Derek felt Cora place a hand on his back. “That wasn’t some bomb, Derek. That was magic.”  
“I know.”  
“Delta was in the city.”  
“I know.”

Stiles was so glad he remembered his training. Waking up to the weight of an entire building pressing him into the ground wasn’t his favorite but it sure beat being dead.   
He reached out to Isaac and Lydia's minds, bonds of magic allowing him to speak to them across the city. 'You both alright?'  
'That was not the plan.'  
'I nearly had him.'  
'You’re lucky to be alive, Stiles. He could have killed you.'  
'He could have killed us all.'  
'He’s gotten stronger.'  
'Fucker. Are magic steroids a thing?'  
'Stiles. Focus.'  
'Meet back at the old bath house?'  
'Seeing as a building just fell on it, I think we may need to use the old market.'  
'Shit! I left my phone charger in the bath house.'  
'Market. One hour.'  
Stiles sighed. Probing at the edges his protective shield, there didn’t seem to be a good way to roll the entire collapsed building off of him without causing more damage. Dematerializing didn’t seem to be a good idea either. He was way too dehydrated and hungry for that.   
Focusing on the earth beneath and around him, an intact sewer tunnel appeared to be the best way.   
“Looks like I’m going to have to go with the ol’ El Chapo.” Stiles began using his magic to dig.


	2. Shit Happens

Derek flexed his hands, wishing for once that all his wounds didn’t heal so quickly. Delta lost eight men to a collapse in the road and Derek didn’t have a scratch on him. Even his ribs were healed.   
“It should have been us.” Cora tightened her crossed arms. “We were the only other company off base today. We’re the werewolf company. We could have survived it. It should have been us.”  
Derek squeezed her shoulder. “I know.”  
“Here.” Laura entered the tent and handed each of them a bottle of water. “Drink.”  
Cora took hers and stood. “I’m going to check on the guys in Delta. See if they need anything.”  
“Don’t bother.” Laura called. “Jordan and Deaton are already there. We shouldn’t overwhelm them.”  
Cora nodded and sat back down. The tent was empty but Derek could hear the chaos that populated the rest of the base.   
“Do we know what it was?”  
Laura rubbed her eyes. “The Colonel isn’t telling if he does. All the registered mages in the area aren’t powerful enough to have done it. It must have been someone foreign, maybe here for the attack specifically.”  
Derek nodded. “Any idea was the target was?”  
Laura shook her head. “The blast originated from the east side. It’s mostly abandoned buildings and workhouses. Whoever did this wasn’t targeting any of the big buildings or large numbers of people. Peter thinks it may have been a mistake.”  
Derek looked up. “What do you mean?”  
“The mage may have been planning something bigger, hiding out and storing energy for a bigger blast. Something may have surprised him into going off sooner than he planned.”  
Cora shook her head. “A mage that powerful wouldn’t be frightened easily. Mages that powerful don’t make mistakes.”  
“Mages are still human.” Laura straightens her back, preparing for the fight she can hear building in Cora’s voice. Cora opens her mouth to fire back but Derek cuts her off.   
“Enough! There’s been enough conflict for today.” He looked at Laura. “Was Delta the target?”  
She shook her head. “They made a wrong turn. Wrong place, wrong time. No one could have predicted their being there.”  
They sat for a moment, appreciating the small consoling detail.   
“There was a smell beforehand.” Derek flinched in surprise despite the softness of Cora’s voice.   
“You smelled it too?”  
Cora nodded tiredly but her eyes was just as confused as his.   
“Like washed wool and herbal tea?”  
Derek cocked his head. “No. Honey and spices.”  
“Ozone too though right?”  
“Yeah.” Derek spoke slowly, unable to comprehend what this meant. He looked to Laura. Her eyes squinted as they always did when she was carefully considering a problem.   
“You too?”  
Laura nodded slowly.   
“Anyone else we know smell it?”  
Both Cora and Laura hesitantly shook their heads.   
Derek pinched his nose. “I’ll need to ask to be sure but I don’t think any of my team smelled it either.”   
“What does that mean?” Cora sounded worried and Derek couldn’t blame her. Mysteries, especially those surrounding magic, were never good.   
Laura shrugged but a small memory filtered into Derek’s mind.   
“Boyd. Boyd knew something about it.”  
They looked at each other and Cora and Derek stood.   
“Let’s find Boyd.”

The old market was damaged but still standing, covered in a thick layer of dust from the explosion. Lydia and Isaac sat in the middle, both tiredly swaying in their seats and struggling to remain focused. They hardly even acknowledged Stiles as he pulled himself out of the tunnel that he manifested into the building.   
“How is it that I can’t manage to build a magical fucking tunnel without having it smell like shit?” Stiles wiped at his arms and wrinkled his nose. “It’s not even a real sewer tunnel! How does that even work?!”  
Lydia rolled her eyes but quickly stood as Stiles approached. “Stiles, I may be covered in an inch of dust right now but I will not also smell like... that.”   
Stiles sighed heavily and stopped, raising his arms in defeat. “Between that fucking explosion and the shit tunnel, I don’t have the magic to fix it.”  
Isaac smiled tiredly but his smile fell quickly.   
“Stiles what happened?”  
Stiles sat heavily and put his head in his hands. “I messed it up. I thought I had him.”  
“Did you cast the spell?”  
Stiles looked up, the frustration in his eyes making them dark. “I did! I completed it, I did it perfectly, I thought I had him!”  
“Then what happened?”   
Stiles dropped his head again. “We underestimated him. He’s grown stronger than we anticipated. He just brushed the fucking spell off.”  
“Was that the explosion then?” Isaac put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles nodded. “What now?”  
Lydia stood. “Come on. We need to go back.”  
Stiles looked at her incredulously. “Back?! What, to the shipyard? You do realize I just crawled through a tunnel to get out of that place? It’s completely obliterated!”   
Lydia rolled her eyes, giving Stiles her patented You’re-An-Idiot look. “The traces of his magic at that site may tell us where he went.”  
Stiles closed his eyes, desperately trying to remember what sleep felt like, before slapping his thighs and standing.   
“Brains before beauty.” He said, sweeping his arm towards the shit tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and suggestions are always appreciated!


	3. Moving Forward

Alison strode across the base, weaving through the tents and nodding occasionally to the soldiers she knew. The dust of the day clung to her face and neck, thicker than usual due to the explosion in the city. Her uniform was nearly stiff, saturated with sweat and blood. Her arm was braced and her ribs wrapped. She knew she must look gruesome, but she was unable to care.   
Eight men lost today. One wrong turn and eight men were gone. Eight brothers and sisters. Alison set her jaw as she fought the wave of nausea. Eight fucking soldiers to a mistake. She hadn’t felt this murderous since her mother died. She felt helpless, defeated.  
She had been lucky, sitting in the rear vehicle with her father. The blast had thrown their car, flipping it off the road. Despite crushing her arm and her father’s leg, the move had saved them. The rest of Delta hadn’t been so lucky. The road had collapsed, swallowing the rest of the cars and claiming the lives of every person in the front two vehicles. Everyone else in the company had been injured in some way or another. Even Jordan had nearly been ripped apart. Alison had never been more grateful for his supernatural healing. They never would have been able to save the injured without his help. She made a mental note to have Chris write him up for a commendation.  
Alison swallowed the empty feeling in her gut and pressed on, heading to the intelligence tent. She had to find Danny. She had been near enough to the explosion to see where it came from, to feel its distinct waves. She had to help find the bastard who did this.  
Footsteps came from behind her, mirroring her own and Alison knew immediately who it was. She didn’t stop, even when his hand reached out to rest on her bare hand, holding it carefully but not asserting any pressure. She felt the pain of her injuries flood out of her body into his hand, leaving only a numb rage that was white hot yet tinged with the sharp edge of loss. She didn’t look back to thank him, knowing if she stopped to look at him, stopped and let him hold her, she would fall apart. Scott didn’t speak or stop her. He kept pace beside her, his hand remaining on her hand.  
The intelligence tent was nearly as chaotic as the medical tents. Every computer station was filled and each of the officers was on the phone. Damage control was always a bitch. Peter made eye contact across the room with her, silently assessing her and Scott before nodding and resuming his work, his grim demeanor as close to sympathetic as Peter could be.  
Scott leaned against her shoulder and pointed to the other corner where Danny was deeply buried in his work. They made their way to his station and waited until he was off the phone. He didn’t even pause to look at them.  
“Are you both alright?”  
“Will be.” Alison replied curtly. “What do we know?”  
Danny huffed loudly, his fingers moving across the keyboard ceaselessly. “Not much. Explosion at 16:37. Originated in the eastern part of the city, the old part. Mostly abandoned buildings. We have numerous casualties reported. The blast was 100% fatal at a zero to six mile radius around the origin. Complete building collapse in that area as well. Six to ten miles away, it was about 50% fatal with the other 50% sustaining serious injuries. Partial infrastructure collapse in that area. Ten miles and farther, only 30% injury rate reported thus far. No deaths, no infrastructure collapse.”  
Scott sucked in a sharp breath. “What are the numbers?” His voice was soft. Alison felt a thundering in her ears and icy shock run through her body.  
Danny paused his fingers, but didn’t look at them. Despite the loud room, the room suddenly felt too quiet without the sound of his fingers punching keys. “You don’t want to know.”  
The all stood, still and silent, before Danny jolted back to life, typing furiously again. “We are monitoring all phone lines in the area. Those that are left anyways. If someone sees anything suspicious, I’m hoping we’ll know soon enough. The city is mad with panic right now. It would be nearly impossible for anyone to escape the city right now.”  
Alison nodded, wanting to believe that. “Is it possible that the mage responsible for this could have been killed in the explosion?”  
Danny shook his head vigorously. “Deaton already ruled that out. A mage can’t be killed by his own magic. Anyone able to make this kind of explosion would also be too powerful to be crushed underneath a building.”  
Scott’s jaw twitched as his back stiffened. “Too bad.”  
Alison tilted her head. “There may be two.”  
Danny squinted at something on the screen. “Two what?”  
“Two mages.”  
Danny and Scott looked sharply at her. “What?”  
“I was close enough to feel the blast. There were two waves, not one. What if there were two mages?”  
Danny regarded her silently. All three jumped as a voice sounded beside them. “Chris reported the same. Alison’s theory may very well be correct.” Deaton’s uniform was nearly as saturated as Alison’s and his head was shining with perspiration.  
“How are they?” Alison rushed to ask.  
Deaton took a deep breath. “Fine for now. Everyone you brought in has been stabilized.” Alison lowered her head, relief ripping through her.  
“What are the implications of two mages?” Danny pressed.   
“Either we are facing twice the threat or this was just a byproduct of a conflict between them. Regardless, we need to be careful.”  
“How are we going to be able to take two down?” Scott asked. Deaton looked at him gravely.  
“The Colonel has already approved the use and distribution of iron bullets.” Scott swallowed thickly as Deaton continued to pin him with his gaze. “Don’t miss.”

If he hadn’t been so tired, this situation would have been hilarious. Wild hair limp around her face and clothes drenched from head to toe in foul smelling water, Lydia looked like a mangey cat. Stiles loved it. Of course, she still managed to look beautiful, but Stiles wasn’t quite ready to let up on her.   
They trudged through the tunnel until they reached its end and Stiles tried not to feel overly claustrophobic as they stood in the dark at the dead end.  
“The building is too big to move.” Stiles stated the obvious. Lydia pressed her hand on the cement chunk pressed against the exit and then nodded.   
“Even if you were at full strength.”   
Isaac suddenly perked up and turned around, walking back the way they came. Stiles rolled his eyes, it was impossible not to think of Isaac as a puppy sometimes. Right now for instance, he could almost see Isaac’s non-existent tail wagging as whatever idea he had just had proved to be increasingly viable.  
Lydia locked eyes with Stiles and even in the dark they could feel each other’s smiles. “Five, four, three, two-“  
“Guys!” Isaac’s call was met with snickers. He ignored them. “I have an idea.”


	4. Slow Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step closer.....

Stiles told himself that if he hadn’t been so sleep deprived, he would have had this brilliant idea sooner. Standing at the edge of the collapsed structure, out of the tunnel and back on solid ground, the idea to build a new exit at the edge of the collapsed building rather than moving the entire building away from the existing exit was admittedly obvious and brilliant. Isaac was a true gem at times. Stiles patted Isaac’s shoulder as he helped him out of the tunnel.  
“Good idea bud.” Isaac rolled his eyes but said nothing. Stiles bent to pull Lydia out. She, unsurprisingly, had done her best to fix her appearance before her feet touched the ground.  
“Now what?” He asked. Lydia looked around. “How much have you recharged?”  
Stiles ran a hand through his filthy hair and did a mental tally. The new exit had drained most of what little he had managed to regain. “Like 20% if pressed.”  
Lydia appraised him silently. He could feel her concern. Isaac would be able to defend them if necessary and the gun at Lydia’s hip left her far from defenseless, but the only one that could truly get them out if things went seriously sideways was Stiles.  
“How about you?”  
She grimaced. “I can do a tracking spell.” But not much else. She didn’t have finish. Her power as a Druid and a banshee was not inconsequential, but nothing compared to Stiles’ spark.  
“Isaac, you think you can watch the perimeter?” Stiles called in Isaac’s general direction, unable to see the gangly boy through the rubble.  
“Sure!”  
Lydia grabbed his arm. “Are we going to be here that long?”  
“Without the strength to sift through this rubble magically, I’m going to have to build tunnels throughout the wreckage to find a trace. It may take hours to find one strong enough to use.” He put his hand over hers. “Don’t worry. Just a couple of hours.”

If Derek had known what a blessing the army would turn out to be, he would have joined right out of high school. He had never known a family as strong as the one he found here, a pack. After the fire in high school, Boyd had been his rock in college, dragging him out of his dark moods and keeping him in the present. Roommates since freshman year, Derek had gotten truly lucky to have found a two man pack through all four years.  
Now, walking through the medical tents and seeing the wounded from Delta company, Derek was again grateful for his pack, glad they hadn’t been hurt.  
Despite werewolves becoming common knowledge nearly three decades prior, the army had resisted putting them in organized units and had preferred to scatter them in the human units. Without packs to keep them calm on full moons, the weres had gone berserk, hurting other team members and the idea had quickly been repealed. Now, weres had their own units. Derek loved the structure of it. Able to rise through the ranks and build his own pack within two years, Derek found purpose in this life. It afforded him the ability to both redeem himself and vent his more violent urges. Cora and Laura had joined up soon after he did. After the fire, none of them wanted to be too far from the others.  
Derek was pulled into the present at the wolf whistle Cora sounded as they entered the logistics tent.  
“Honestly, you have been together for years! Can you not do this in public?” Derek called as Cora whistled again. Laura looked disapprovingly at the two disheveled officers as they hastily pulled away from each other. Boyd hardly looked ruffled while Erica remained unrepentant.  
“Life is short.” Erica simply stated and the mood immediately become grim.  
“Boyd-” Laura stopped as the radio in her hand crackled to life. They all listened.  
“Well I guess we will have to have this conversation later.” Laura said after the radio had finished relaying their orders. She turned and left the tent, Boyd moving to follow her. Erica finished straightening her uniform, her face becoming serious as she moved to follow Boyd out. “Take care of him Hale!” Both Derek and Cora nodded before following her out of the tent.  
Outside, the base was filled with motion. Both Bravo and Charlie teams had been ordered to return to the city in hopes of finding the mage responsible for the blast. An informant had reported suspicious foreigners in the old part of the city, near the market.  
Derek gripped Cora’s shoulder briefly before letting her move towards her vehicle. A mage powerful enough to set off an explosion that large would be dangerous and unlikely to come quietly.  
“Mount up!” Boyd called, startling Derek from his thoughts.  
Derek assessed his lead vehicle quickly, finding a patch on the previously flat tire. “Jackson.” He called to the man sitting at the wheel within the vehicle. Jackson leaned over the seat to look at him.  
“Will it hold?”  
Jackson smiled slightly and nodded. “It’s no Porsche, but it’ll do.” Derek knocked his fist against the door before opening it and climbing in.  
“We’re Oscar Mike.”


	5. Two Step

A couple of hours later and they still hadn’t found anything. Stiles felt an impending danger tickling the hairs on his neck and by the agitated states of the others, he wasn’t the only one. He used the barest of magic to form another tunnel of rubble before him, allowing him to move farther into the collapsed building and closer to where he remembered seeing Deucalion right before the explosion. Right before he had escaped. He reached out to Lydia's mind.

'Even if we do find a trace and are able to find his new location, what then?'

She reached back, somewhere behind him and to the left. Her exhaustion tinged their connection, giving it a slightly foggy, grey quality. 'We find a way to contain him.' 

'What way? We used the most powerful spell possible on him right here and look where that got us.'

He could feel her analytical mind processing it. 'We need something stronger.'

Stiles rolled his eyes, but kept the feeling from Lydia. She was being genuine, but that was hardly useful.

'Just keep looking. First we need a trace.' Stiles crouched, running his fingers through the dust on the rubble and sucking a breath as a tingle jolted through his fingers.

'I’m close. I’m nearly where he was standing.'

'Is it strong enough?'

Stiles reached his magic into the floor, soaking up every last molecule of residual magic. It felt like shards of glass, cutting through him and working against his spark. Even Deucalion’s damned residue was contrary. He pushed into the feeling, wrapping his magic around Deucalion's. It was slippery, flowing in and out of his control. He grabbed onto a passing wave of images, a brief picture of Deucalion arguing with a tall woman. Another image sped past, an old man with a sword. A line of cowering omegas. Screaming.

'Stiles.'

'Hang on.'

'Stiles.'

'I’ve almost got it.'

'STILES'

Stiles was about to respond when Isaac came cutting in loudly.

'WE HAVE INCOMING!'

Reports of the foreigners in the old shipyard rerouted both units before they had reached the old market. It only made Derek more anxious. Three young foreigners at the origin of the blast couldn’t be good. And there was no way to tell which was the mage, if any of them, without confronting them.

He grabbed the radio. “Alpha, this is Bravo, over.”

The radio crackled. “Bravo, this is Alpha.”

“Alpha, I need Deaton, over.”

The radio went silent before it again sounded. “Bravo, this is Deaton.”

“How will I know if they are mages?”

“They are mages if they throw a curse at you.” Derek could just throttle Deaton sometimes.

“Thanks for that. How else?”

There was a pause. “Mages draw their power from their environment. Anything organic around them will be drained to fuel their magic, including you. If you start to feel tired, like your energy is being pulled out of you, you will know it is a mage.”

Finally. A helpful answer. “Thank you. Bravo out.”

Derek took a deep breath before getting on the radio, this time broadcasting only to his unit. “Bravo, I need a brass check. I want 50% specialized, 50% usual.”

Checking his weapon, he listened as the others in the vehicle did the same, inspecting the chamber and ensuring that it wouldn’t jam. Half of each vehicle would change to the specialized iron bullet, designed to kill mages. Iron was one of the few elements impermeable to magic, able to cut through protective fields. The other half of the vehicle would use normal ammunition, just in case these foreigners were just human.

Each car radioed in a positive brass check.

Jackson turned to Derek without looking away from the road. “Two clicks out.”

“Charlie should be there any minute.”

When Stiles emerged from the rubble, Lydia and Isaac were standing together, tense and alert. Lydia had a hand on her weapon, but hadn’t pulled it yet.

“Isaac, how far away and how many?” Stiles called as he jogged over to join them. Isaac was unnaturally still, half crouched but not shifted.

“Twenty-eight right there. Another twenty-eight only minutes out.” He spoke almost in a whisper and pointed straight ahead. “They are all weres.”

Stiles felt a jolt go through him as he spotted the two sniper/spotter teams positioned to their left and right. The other twenty-four soldiers were positioned evenly between the two teams. All of them had weapons out and aimed straight at them.

“They’re all weres?! Are you sure?”

Stiles felt his palms start to sweat. It was never a good feeling to be both surrounded and out-gunned. He hoped they hadn’t seen him exit the rubble. They would need his spark to be a surprise if they were going to have much chance.

Isaac shivered slightly. “Yes. The one straight ahead near the humvee is an alpha.”

Stiles felt the same shiver rock through him. Alphas were dangerous.

Lydia shifted slightly to press into Stiles. “Can we translocate?”

Stiles shook his head, his throat dry. She pressed harder into him. “Then what the hell is the plan?”

Stiles started bouncing on his feet, his overactive nature making him move nervously. “If I create a diversion, could you and Isaac get to the tunnel?”

He felt Lydia look sharply at him. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“No, I’m going to get you two out of here.” He turned to face her and Isaac slightly. “Deaucalion is the real issue here. If I can get you two out of here, I’ll give myself up. I doubt they have a cell that can hold me and after I recharge, I’ll meet back up with you two.”

Lydia looked dubious. Isaac looked increasingly sick. “We aren’t going to leave you. Hell, we can’t even do anything about Deucalion without you. Find a new plan.”

Stiles dragged a hand through his hair. 

“Why don’t we just talk to them?” Isaac asked. “They are looking for the mage who did this,” he gestured behind them to the fallen building. “Why don’t we just tell them we are lost tourists?”

Lydia exhaled sharply. “We are three unregistered supernaturals in a war zone. They aren’t just going to let us go.”

Isaac flinched and look back at the soldiers. “The others have arrived.” He looked back to Stiles. “There is another alpha! We need to go!”

Stiles suddenly stopped moving. “We’re going with Plan A.”

Lydia whirled on him. “We aren’t leaving you Stiles!”

“Do you have a better idea?!” She glared at him, her eyes hard. Stiles turned and gripped her shoulders. “Run to the tunnel. I’ll meet you in three days in Al Shirrat, at the tea house.” She opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off. “I can do this! Now go!”

With a last glance at both her and Isaac, he turned back to the soldiers and raised his hands.

Derek was out of the humvee before it had stopped and moved to join his sister. Laura turned slightly to acknowledge him. “They haven’t moved. They’re just talking, planning something.”

Derek motioned at his company to get in position, taking the flanking positions to cut off their possible escape routes. “Do we know anything else?”

Laura shook her head. “Two males and a female. The tall male is a beta. The female is something, but I can’t place the smell. The other male could be human.”

“Any magic?”

“Not that I can smell.”

Derek took the binoculars Laura offered and examined the foreigners for himself. They were huddled, hardly even acknowledging the soldiers anymore. They seemed to be arguing. They all looked worse for wear, dirty and tired. “You think any of them is the mage?” He looked at Laura.

Laura narrowed her eyes in thought. “I don’t know. I haven’t felt that pull of energy at all. I don’t know what they are waiting for.”

She opened her mouth to continue but stopped and tensed as a call came through. “HANDS!”

Derek and Laura raised their weapons simultaneously as the shorter male raised his hands. And then they saw nothing as a wall of sand manifested and hit them, blinding them and cutting them off from the foreigners. Derek pulled his goggles down over his eyes and allowed himself to partially shift, searching through the sand for a scent to follow. Even in the harsh winds, it was easy to find the male’s scent of sweat, exhaustion and anxiety. 

Derek surged forward, feeling Laura on his right and Boyd on his left. He felt the drive of the hunt overtake him, the joy and power in tracking prey driving him towards his goal. The sand had only disoriented the wolves for a moment, but they were all professionals. It took more than a little storm to throw them off.

Feeling around the edge of the rubble, they quickly followed the scent to a tunnel leading into the building. Signaling to proceed, Laura took the lead into the dark. While the whistling of the wind outside was deafening, the rubble was nearly silent. 

The scent grew ever stronger until they turned a corner and there the male was. Looking at the ground, his eyes flew up in fear as they rounded the corner. He raised his hands and Laura was thrown off her feet, slamming into the side of the tunnel. Derek fired without a thought, watching as the bullet cut through the magical barrier the male tried to erect and hit the male. The male went down, the storm outside died, and the ground beneath them collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with it so far! Almost to our meet cute!! 
> 
> Also sorry about the formatting. I'm still getting a feel for how I want it.


	6. Back and Forth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally our meet cute!

Derek eyed the man. Now clean, it was easier to see the strong jaw, the upturned nose, the amber eyes, and the moles that dotted his skin. He was thin and his features were sunken with exhaustion, but there was no denying he was attractive.

They had stabilized him on the ride to the Base. The small forward operating base Derek's company typically inhabited lacked a magic containment cell, so they'd had to endure a two hour drive to the main base. The man was lucky to be alive, likely saved by his magic in some way. He had received medical treatment and slept for two days. Derek felt strangely relieved to see the man’s eyes open and alert, even if they were glaring at him. He repressed a shiver, feeling the intensity of the man’s eyes through the one-way glass of the interrogation room. 

Derek turned to Deaton. “So is he the mage?”

Deaton shrugged in that obnoxiously vague way of his. “I can’t be certain. Obviously he has some form of magic but I can’t tell the nature of it.”

Derek waited. Deaton could sometimes be coaxed into revealing more given time. Deaton sighed. “No one reported feeling a pull of energy when the man created the sandstorm, which would indicate that he is not a mage. However, no one reported smelling magic on him either and even now I know you can’t smell any. That takes the type of skill few magic users could attain. A mage would be the most fitting answer, but I simply have no solid proof of it.”

Derek turned back to the mirror and the man behind it. “Will those handcuffs work?”

He felt Deaton shift beside him. “They should. They are made to bind magic, but magic is multi-faceted. The cuffs aren’t perfect, but they should work.”

The man in the mirror made a face and scratched underneath the cuffs, then returned to glaring at Derek.

“Can he see me?” Derek felt ridiculous asking but the intensity of the man’s gaze was uncannily and accurately aimed at him.

Deaton shook his head slightly. “Maybe.”

Derek rolled his eyes, his patience failing him. “I’m going to begin.”

Derek moved to the door and entered the room without making eye contact with the man. He allowed his scent to become calming and indifferent. He moved casually to the chair opposite the man and only after he had sat in it did he finally make eye contact. The amber was even more staggering up close, but the glare was the same.  
Derek allowed the silence to continue, their gazes holding. He loved this part, the competition. Who would speak first? Who would break? The suspense grew ever thicker and with it, the man became increasingly fidgety.

“They tell me you’re the asshole that shot me.” Derek resisted smiling. He had won the waiting game. Just a corner of the white bandage on the man’s chest peaked above the army-issue green shirt he’d been given. 

Derek impassively looked at the man. “You attacked us.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Hardly! You surrounded us. I threw a little dirt at you!”

“You threw a curse at my sister.”

The man dropped his eyes. “Is she ok?”

Derek nodded slowly, confused by the sudden sincerity.

“I just wanted to leave.”

Derek studied the man. They had not been able to discover anything about him. Deaton had been as stumped as the rest of them. He had nothing on him to indicate his nationality or identity. With the Colonel returning any minute from headquarters, Derek had simply been ordered to wait.

The man continued to bounce his knee under the table and look around the room distractedly. Being composed of four white concrete walls and a door, and containing only three chairs and a table, the man had little to look at except Derek. His long-fingered hand fidgeted with the cuffs at his wrists. Lean muscle filled out his thin frame. Only the soft curves in his cheeks exposed how young he was.

“Was it iron?” The man asked suddenly. “The bullet. Was it iron?”

Derek nodded. The man huffed and winced, looking slightly annoyed. “Damn iron.” He muttered. He looked at Derek sharply and then his face softened. “Thanks for not killing me.”

Derek tilted his head slightly. “I was aiming at your head.”

The man laughed. “Asshole.” He face grew somber. “Are my friends alright?”

Derek leaned forward but remained silent. The man searched his face. “You can’t tell me, can you?”

Derek stayed silent. The man narrowed his eyes. “This room feels strange.”

Derek leaned back again, stretching slightly, uncomfortable in the metal chairs. “It’s warded, isn’t it?” The man looked around again, flexing his cuffed hands, seeming to understand Derek wasn’t going to answer. “Was it a Druid that warded it?” The man smiled. “It was a Druid, wasn’t it?”

Derek fought the urge to roll his eyes. This man couldn’t seem to shut up. 

“You’re an alpha.” It was spoken as a statement. Derek stared back at him. The man flexed his hands again. “So is your sister.” 

The man leaned forward. “How is it that there are two alphas in one family? Don’t you have to like kill each other for that or something?”

Derek felt a headache coming on. The man continued. “Two alphas in one family must make your family special. You’re probably from a pack I would recognize. Are you a Turner? Mortimer? O’Shea? Rivers? Reynolds? Hale? Shaw-“

“Why can’t we smell you?” Derek cut in, uncomfortable with how close the man was getting. The man smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“I’m glad to know it’s working.” Derek tried to be patient. Even during the attack the man’s smell had been masked somehow, muted. While he could still smell his emotions, his unique scent was missing. “You can tell too much about someone by their scent.”

Derek nodded and frowned. The man was right, but that didn’t mean he liked it. “Tell me about the explosion.”

The man instantly tensed and his eyes went dark. “That wasn’t me.”

Derek pressed. “We didn’t find any other magic user in the area.”

“That doesn’t mean it was me.”

“We found you at the site of the blast.”

“It wasn’t me.” The man dropped his gaze sightly. “I’m nowhere near powerful enough.” He raised his head again. “You saw! There is a huge difference between creating a sand storm and leveling half a city!”

“What I saw was a desperate attempt to escape. You were barely alive when we captured you. I have no idea how powerful you are at full strength.”

The man ground his teeth. “It wasn’t me.”

“But you know who it was.” 

The man looked at his hands. “I do.”

“You were there when the explosion happened.”

“I was.”

“Tell me.”

The man sighed heavily. “I went to capture him. I messed up.”

Derek nodded, glad to finally be getting somewhere. “How did you mess up?”

“I underestimated him. The spell I used was meant to contain him, but he was already far too powerful. He broke it easily.” The man looked embarrassed and frustrated. His smell confirmed it. His heartbeat was steady.

“Was that what caused the explosion? Him breaking that spell?” The man nodded.

“So you are that powerful. The explosion was the released energy of your spell.”

The man was shaking his head vehemently as Derek spoke. “No! The explosion was the energy of my spell plus the spell he used to break it!”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Containment spells are hard to cast. They require experience, concentration, and most of all, energy. The user is counting on being stronger than the one being contained, otherwise the one being contained will simply use more energy to overwhelm it. Those spells are about strength.” Derek was only a little distracted by the man’s hands as he explained, fluttering around somehow both erratically and gracefully. “Think about it like a net. If I throw a net on you, I’m betting on the net being stronger than you. Otherwise, you will tear it to pieces and escape.”

Derek tilted his head again. “So you’ve been trained in magic.”

The man shrugged, surprisingly modest. “This stuff doesn’t come naturally to most people.”

“So you went to a school for magic?”

“Obviously.”

Derek smiled. “Aren’t too many of those.”

The man froze and then arched an eyebrow. “And here I thought we were just having a friendly conversation till the Colonel arrived.”

“We were. Which school did you go to?” The man smiled and leaned back.

“You’re more than just a pretty face aren’t you?” Derek arched an eyebrow. He was enjoying this interrogation far more than he usually did.

“Tell me about the other explosion.” The man looked confused and Derek quickly elaborated. “When I shot you, the storm stopped, you fell, and then the ground exploded underneath us. I’m assuming that your friends used some underground tunnel to escape and you collapsed the entrance to protect them. How did you cast that final spell when you were out cold?”

The man’s eyes hardened in understanding, but he remained silent. 

Derek nodded. “You’re protecting someone then. Was it the beta or the female that cast that spell?”

Nothing.

“Neither of them smelled like magic, although neither did you. Yet neither of them hid their scents quite as well as you did.” The man’s fidgeting was stilted, like he was actively suppressing it in his attempt to seem impassive. “You are the more powerful I’m assuming.” The man shrugged.

Derek leaned forward. “What is the female?”

The man made a quick movement, almost a flinch, but said nothing.

“She isn’t human. The other male was a wolf, but she is something different, isn’t she?”

The man suddenly shrugged, to sharp a movement to be casual, and narrowed his eyes. “Seems you know enough already without me.”

Derek tilted his head. “Not quite.”

He leaned in to continue when the door to the interrogation room slammed open. Derek stood and turned, only to be confronted with a very angry Colonel.

“What the hell Stiles!”


	7. Introductions

Stiles wished he could take a picture of his interrogator’s face. The pure confusion was priceless. But right now, he needed to redirect his focus to his very angry father.

“Dad I can explain.”

Noah Stilinski pushed past Stiles’ interrogator, advancing on Stiles in a way Stiles told himself wasn’t frightening. “Really? Oh good! Because I was worried there wasn’t a good explanation for my son being captured in a fucking war zone by my own fucking people!”

Stiles grimaced. “I told you I was going abroad.”

Noah’s face got even redder. “You told me you were going to BALI!”

Stiles stood but, forgetting about the handcuffs attached to the table, was jerked into an awkward half-standing, half-bent position. “I did go to Bali! I just came here after.”

Stiles craned his neck to see his father’s face and immediately regretted it. Noah was nearly breathing fire. Stiles lowered his head and sighed. “Dad I had to stop him.”

“Stop who?!” 

“Deucalion.”

The entire room was suddenly silent, like all the air had been sucked from it. Noah’s voice was dangerously soft. “How do you know about Deucalion?”

Stiles sat down fully. “This would be easier to explain with Lydia and Isaac.”

Even softer. “You brought Lydia and Isaac too?”

If Stiles could sink any lower, he would. “Yeah.”

“Where?”

Laura flicked her eyes back to the wild redhead in her backseat again in the rear view mirror. While her sight told her that she was only a young woman, her nose was screaming “predator”. Considering what little Laura knew about her, she agreed with her nose. Finding Lydia and the beta had been easy; they were exactly where the young Stilinski had said they’d be. Getting them to surrender had been a whole other matter. 

The girl had erected a protective barrier of mountain ash before Laura had had a chance to explain. Lydia had required a phone call from Stiles before she had even begun to hear Laura out. But once she started listening, she listened. 

Laura prided herself on her intellect. As the eldest Hale child, she had always needed to be both clever and wise in order to be worthy of the Hale alpha power. But faced with this wild woman, Laura had found her intellect truly challenged for the first time in her life. And she liked it. 

Though she didn’t trust Lydia in the least, she found herself thoroughly intrigued by the redhead. Once she had removed the protective barrier, Lydia had refused to be separated from the beta and gone silent. Laura wasn’t fooled. Lydia was watching everything and gleaning every bit of information Laura revealed, intentionally or otherwise. 

The beta on the other hand, Isaac, was tucked next to her in the backseat and reeked of uncertainty. He had put on a brave face at first, but once Stiles had told them to stand down over the phone, he had withdrawn. His silent, nervous nature was as equally unnerving to Laura as Lydia’s watchful eye. Isaac could act rashly if he felt threatened and could harm himself or others. Laura tried her best to move slowly and remain calm, attempting to use every trick she knew to ooze calm vibes. It wasn’t working very well. A beta without a pack was more like an omega and would always be fearful of alphas who historically were more likely to kill them than integrate them into their packs. 

Isaac was intensely staring at Scott, sitting in the driver’s seat, but Laura suspected that was more out of incredulity than fear. Scott had started to hum “Sweet Caroline”, likely to ease the thick tension in the vehicle. It was wholly inappropriate for the moment, but Laura had never been more grateful for Scott’s aversion to conflict. 

“How far?” Lydia suddenly asked, her tone coming out both genuine and superior. Laura flicked her eyes to the rearview mirror again.

“Not far.” Laura watched a perfectly manicured, red eyebrow ascend. Laura raised both her eyebrows in response. It was hardly appropriate for two errand supernaturals to expect more concrete information after having been detained for illegal entry into and activities within a war zone. Their odd eyebrow war continued until Scott’s rendition of “Sweet Caroline” became too grating to ignore and Laura ended it to silence him.

She immediately regretted the silence. She looked back into the mirror briefly. “How is it your family is unaware of your absence?”

More immediate regret. Lydia’s eyes hardened and she pursed her lips. “That’s hardly any of your concern.”

Laura pressed, oddly eager to find some way to illuminate the enigma in her backseat. “You’re hardly in a position to withhold information.”

Lydia raised both eyebrows this time, but conceded. “They are busy.” She looked away from Laura in the mirror and out the window. “They were urgently needed in Uganda due to a delicate political situation and have limited communicative capabilities at present.”

It sounded rehearsed. The hurt coming off Lydia was almost completely concealed. Almost.

“What is their occupation?” Laura noted how Lydia raised her head slightly in the mirror.

“Legal and Conflict Management.”

Laura nearly ripped in half turning in her seat to look at the young woman behind her as the pieces fell into place nearly instantly. “Your parents are Matthew and Elaine Martin?!”

Lydia looked at Laura as she turned, tensing slightly at the sudden movement. Isaac fully flinched and half raised his arms in defense. They both recovered quickly, but Isaac’s anxiety was slightly more pronounced. “Of course.” Lydia said easily, like she had wanted Laura to put it together. Laura continued to stare incredulously.

“You are Lydia Martin? The heiress of the Martin Firm? The only known Banshee of our generation?”

Lydia sniffed slightly and tilted her head. “Obviously.” Lydia looked back out the window, apparently done with the line of questioning. 

Laura wasn’t. “Why on Earth are you out here? What were you thinking?”

Lydia’s eyes flashed but her composure remained faultless. “Taking the air. Enjoying the sunshine. Attempting to capture the most dangerous man in the world before he destroys it.” She did finally look at Laura as she added, “A man who has been able to evade you consistently, I could add.”

“You could, but then I might correct your mistake given the three year long campaign we’ve been running here to identify the scope of his organization and take it all down rather than just a single man.”

“It would seem taking the man into custody would be the fastest way to attain information on the scope of his organization.”

“It would seem that way. Especially to a barely trained supernatural from the world’s most expensive training camp-“

“I think you mean world’s most prestigious School for the Supernatural and Magically Gifted.”

“-but to those of us in the real world, it is known that extensive intelligence must be recovered to safely and effectively move against an operation like Deucalion’s.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips again. “Three years of intelligence and yet three barely trained supernaturals knew more about his plans.”

“And look how well capturing him went for you.”

Lydia sat back, her eyes blazing. Laura turned back to face forwards, a small smile on her lips. Though she had won this battle, she felt certain the war was yet to be decided. And Lydia would hardly go down without a fight.


	8. Illumination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for some answers.

Derek's mind reeled. His day had been drastically derailed by the barrage of information coming at him since the Colonel had arrived. The man’s name was Stiles and he was the Colonel’s son. Even looking at them side by side now, the resemblance was weak. The bond was not however. Despite the frankly alarming level of anger shown by the Colonel, the deep and immense worry and love he felt for his son was obvious. Stiles had been released from the handcuffs and moved into a larger room to be held until the other two - Lydia and Isaac - arrived. 

Derek had been asked to stay outside of the new holding cell, but the Colonel’s yelling from the other side of the door had been inescapable. Derek was glad not to be the recipient of such a verbal lashing.

“Interesting situation.” Derek barely contained his shock at Peter’s sudden appearance beside him. Damn sneaky bastard. The amusement in Peter’s scent was as obvious as the gleam in his eye. Derek shifted his feet and nodded, knowing to wait for Peter’s purpose. 

“The prodigal son hath returned.” Peter turned to the door and tilted his head but Derek doubted he was listening in. Even Peter respected the Colonel’s privacy. “Deucalion is more dangerous than we assumed.”

Derek was surprised. It was unlike Peter to admit shortcomings, especially in knowledge. “How powerful is he?”

Peter didn’t look at him, eyes dark and hidden. “I don’t know.” He turned to meet Derek’s gaze and Derek found that sharp gleam within them again. “Perhaps a more important question is how powerful is the young Stilinski?”

Derek tilted his head, hackles rising unbidden. “What do you mean?”

“The young man in there came here with the intention of capturing the world’s most notorious mage. Either he is incredibly arrogant and believes himself to be Deucalion’s equal or he is in fact that powerful. Which do you think is more likely given he nearly succeeded?”

Derek’s eyes flashed. “His reckless attempt destroyed a city and killed good men.”

Peter smiled. “See the forrest, not the trees, nephew. The power of the explosion was likely only half his, but even then, the magnitude is overwhelming.”

Derek’s sour mood intensified and he shifted his feet. His uncle’s regard for life was nearly nonexistent even in the best of times. His blatant inability to even fake compassion often disgusted Derek. For a wolf, pack should be everything. Sometimes he wondered how much kinship Peter truly felt for any of them. “It doesn’t matter at all.”

Peter looked at him expectantly and Derek elaborated. “He could be powerful or arrogant or both. It doesn’t matter because he failed. He is less powerful than Deucalion and useless to us.”

Peter smirked. “Oh Derek. That’s naive even for you.”

Derek withheld a sigh and wished he could escape the monologue he felt coming. He reached through his bonds to find Laura and was glad to feel her nearly at the base.

“What was Deucalion doing in the city?” Derek asked, attempting to distract Peter.

“That’s classified.” Peter smirked. Derek rolled his eyes.

“Any new leads on his whereabouts?” 

“Classified.”

“What the hell did you come down here for, Peter?” 

“Nephew, you wound me.” Peter put his hand to his chest in a half-hearted dramatization. 

“Peter.”

Peter chuckled. “I’m going to be sitting in with you, Laura and the Colonel when the banshee arrives.”

Derek frowned. “Banshee?”

“Oh yes. In a surprising turn of events, it turns out this Lydia is the Lydia Martin.”

Derek processed the new information and then sighed heavily. “You came down early just to annoy me.”

Peter shrugged, going across the hallway to lean on the opposite wall. “It’s possible.” He looked at Derek critically. “It’s also possible Cora told me that you smelled something just before the explosion.”

Derek’s eyes flicked to Peter’s in surprise. He hadn’t had a moment to contemplate the strange smell since capturing Stiles and had yet to ask Boyd about it. “Have you ever heard of anything like that?”

Peter assessed Derek, the serious focus in his eyes enough to tell Derek he was worried, but didn’t respond. 

“Do you think it’s some type of sign? All three of the Hales getting some strange scent at once?” Derek pressed.

Peter narrowed his eyes. “The day I arrived at my posting here, I spent the entire afternoon attempting to coax a water sprite from the town well.”

Derek interrupted, painfully familiar with the story. “Yes, I know. You proved your intelligence by outwitting the sprite because you wanted to impress your commanding officer.”

“Who is also my mate.”

Derek nodded. “Yes. Chris. I know. Please get to the point.”

“Do you want my help?” Derek stayed silent, grinding his teeth. Peter smiled, drawing out the moment before continuing. “That first day, the moment I got off the airplane, I was overwhelmed by a scent. It was like gun oil and wolfsbane and cloves.” Peter held Derek’s eyes. “It smelled like home.”

“You never told me that.”

“You never asked.” 

Derek rolled it around in his head. “What does it mean?”

Peter stood and approached Derek, clapping a hand on his shoulder in mock solidarity. “I’m not going to spell it out for you, Derek. You’ll work it out.”

Derek opened his mouth to protest, but the sounds of approaching boots tore him away. Laura came down the hallway, flanked by Scott and leading the tall boy and redhead from before. He saw Peter hungrily take in the newcomers before turning and knocking on the holding cell door. 

“Time to begin.” He said with a smile.

Stiles could feel the touch of Isaac’s and Lydia’s minds growing nearer and he readied himself. His father was still yelling and Stiles couldn’t blame him. He felt bad for not telling him anything, but if he had to do it again, he would. Noah was all he had left. He would never risk him. 

He was glad his father knew nothing of the specifics of his spark. He had a brief window to pull his stunt off and he needed it to work. He trusted his father, but the number of unfamiliar heartbeats accompanying Isaac and Lydia made him unwilling to give more away than he had to. Everyone on this base thought this cell was magic proof. Technically it was mage proof and since mages were the most common and most potent magic users, it made sense. Sparks were so rare it would be silly to make it spark proof as well. Stiles had that working in his favor. The room suppressed his magic but only slightly. It was designed to prevent him from drawing strength from others as mages had to. Sparks drew their power from themselves and their intent. Stiles was perfectly able to do magic and he wanted to keep that edge. 

The heartbeats were right outside the door and Stiles tensed, sitting forward subtlety, perfectly positioned to move. The doorknob turned and Stiles surged past his father, deftly navigating around the first stranger who tensed at Stiles’ sudden movement. Reaching Isaac in seconds, he pulled Isaac into a hug, earning a surprised yelp from the wolf. Then he healed himself. 

He heard the cries of surprise at his magic, but they were quickly drowned out by the wave of relief that flowed over him. The wound had been bothering him immensely. To have it gone was like picking a scab off only to find the wound underneath gone. He smiled and then gave Isaac a hard squeeze in thanks for going along with it. 

He made eye contact with the interrogator from before, whose ridiculous eyebrows were still raised in astonishment, and gave him a cheeky wink. Stiles ducked his head before he could see the response and went back to his seat. He didn’t have to look at his father to know Noah was giving him the “We’ll talk about this later” look. He could feel Lydia’s indignant glare on him as well. Damn. He should have given her a hug as well. 

The room slowly recovered and Lydia and Isaac were given chairs next to him. Stiles squared his shoulders for the second round of interrogation that day. 

'What was that?' Lydia’s sharp question rang through his mind. 

'I needed to heal. I hugged Isaac so they would think I drew the power from him.'

Isaac’s realization flooded through Stiles’ awareness and Stiles thanked his lucky stars Isaac had been so willing to go along with it. 

'You’re hurt?! Where?!'

'I was shot. It’s no big deal, I’m fine now.'

'No big deal?! We are officially never going along with your plans again.'

'Please. My plans are the fucking bomb.com.'

'I will pay you a literal fortune to never use those words again.'

The last of the newcomers filed in and shut the door, making the holding cell feel suddenly very crowded. It made Stiles itch with claustrophobia. The fact that the room was actively suppressing his magic, however minutely made it even more oppressive. Despite Lydia’s reassuring hand on his arm, he was beginning to crawl with pent-up energy. He raised his hand, ignoring the way that everyone looked at it without humor. 

“What, Stiles?” His dad was so done with him right now. 

“Can we take a break? Please?”

“Stiles, we haven’t even started.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth, but was cut off. “Stiles. Shut up.” His dad pinned him with a stern glare. Stiles sighed dramatically and made a show of zipping his lips, but continued to fidget.

Stiles, Lydia, and Isaac all sat on one side of the table, facing his father and the female alpha that had brought Lydia and Isaac. His interrogator from before stood opposite him stiffly, arms crossed. A short, bald man stood directly behind his father. Stiles recognized him as the one who patched him up when he first arrived at base. In the far corner, slightly in the shadows, a tall man with incredibly unnerving blue eyes leaned against the wall, his casual demeanor making Stiles’ skin crawl. Except his father's, none of the soldiers’ uniforms had a name tag.

Stiles felt Lydia press closer into his side. 'How much trouble are we in?' Isaac’s worry permeated even his thoughts.

'Lydia’s untouchable. You’ll probably live. I’m completely fucking dead.' Stiles was only half joking. 

Lydia’s overwhelmingly rational mind mentally rolled her eyes at them. 'Don’t be dramatic. We have information they need.'

'They only need one of us for information. I’m definitely dead.' Stiles resisted the crazy urge to grin. 'I already know that Isaac will throw himself on my grave. Lydia, will you cry at my funeral?'

'No.' Isaac made a chocked sound and Lydia sharply elbowed Stiles. 

“Stiles.” Stiles jumped, refocusing on the issue at hand and realizing his father had been talking to him.

“Sorry, what?” His father took a deep breath. Stiles required the patience of a saint.

“I asked how you knew about Deucalion.”

“Oh.” Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, trying to determine the best course of action. “I saw an advertisement in the paper. ‘Man seeking man for fun adventure in war zone’.”

“Stiles.”

Stiles winced. “Tinder date?”

“Stiles, I swear on your mother’s grave-“

“Marin Morrell sent us.” Lydia cut in, saving Stiles from his own humor default setting. The name seemed to affect the bald man immensely.

“Marin? Why would she send you?” The man interjected.

“Wait, wait.” Noah held up his hands. “Who the hell is Marin Morrell?”

“Yeah, can we actually pump the brakes on this whole thing for a second?” Stiles leaned forward, ignoring the death glare from his father. “Before we share, I want to know who the hell everyone is.”

Stiles was pretty sure his father was going to have an aneurism before this thing was over, but surprisingly the bald man agreed. “Dr. Alan Deaton.”

Derek could see the name meant something to Stiles, despite his attempt to school his reaction. Derek would be surprised if Stiles didn’t know the name. Deaton was fairly well known in the supernatural community for his research into supernatural biology. Most emissaries tried their best, but Deaton had always excelled at the position.

Stiles nodded respectfully to Deaton and looked at Peter. Derek was impressed at Stiles’ perceptiveness. Starting with the most dangerous one in the room was a wise move. Peter remained in the shadows of the room and drew out the moment, clearly challenging Stiles. Stiles’ eyes were steady, unyielding. His fidgeting stopped and the room became uncomfortably still.

“Peter Hale.” Derek nearly startled at the sound of Isaac’s voice and all eyes swung to him in surprise.

“I don’t believe we have met.” Peter’s voice was slow and low, as dangerous as Derek had ever heard. The development was disquieting.

Isaac was shockingly composed, making direct eye contact with Peter. Lydia put a hand on Isaac’s wrist and he finally looked back to his hands, breaking his sudden fierce stance. Lydia then looked to Peter, the same fierce flint in her gaze. “Malia says hi.”

Peter flinched, his icy eyes widening briefly at the name before regaining their normal cool glint. Derek shifted his feet, the tense environment making it hard to be still. Of course he and Laura knew about Malia and the history there, but the unexpected connection to these three strangers made him feel vulnerable.

Lydia turned her green gaze to Laura. Already off kilter, Derek could feel Laura’s uncertainty at being focused on.

“You must be Laura Hale then.”

Stiles, uncharacteristically silent and still throughout the Peter-Isaac encounter, glanced at Lydia in surprise but nodded respectfully to Laura once Laura confirmed. Laura tilted her head at Lydia, to which Lydia only raised an eyebrow. Derek was surprised at Laura’s amused smell. Clearly, something had happened between them on the ride over. Isaac seemed to curl in on himself more. Clearly, the beta was feeling threatened and whatever connection he had with Malia was increasing his anxiety at being surrounded by Hales.

“I knew you were from an old pack!” Stiles’ gleefully smug statement shook the room in its sudden contradiction to the mood of the room. 

Derek smirked at him. “Derek Hale.” 

Lydia nodded respectfully and Isaac refused to make eye contact. Stiles simply continued to grin ridiculously at him.

The Colonel suddenly broke into the odd silence. “And these three delinquents are Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin, and Isaac Lahey. Now that we are all acquainted, can someone please tell me who the hell Marin Morrell is?”

“Marin Morrell is my sister.” Deaton’s confession came as a shock to everyone on Derek’s side of the table. Derek glanced at Peter and found him unperturbed however. Either he had known or was hiding his astonishment. “Why would she send you three after the most dangerous man in the world?”

Stiles shifted slightly in his seat and Derek realized the likelihood of getting honest answers out of him was slim, even with his father present. “You should ask her.”  
“Stiles.” 

“No, Dad. Deucalion is dangerous. The less you know the better.”

Derek didn’t know a single wolf in the entire military that was brave or stupid enough to talk to the Colonel like that. 

“Stiles, I have been out here, in the middle of a war, for months trying to track that terrorist down. You think that ignorance will protect me out here?” The Colonel was angrier than Derek had ever seen him, but Derek could smell the concern and love for his son radiating from him. Derek would never admit to anyone how much Colonel Stilinski reminded him of his own father. Sometimes it hit him hard how much he missed his father. He knew Laura and Cora felt the same, but none of them felt the need to acknowledge it. Derek felt the sharp blade of guilt slip between his ribs at the thought, a constant reminder of why they were all orphans.

Stiles shrank across the table at his father’s anger, sliding in his seat and deflating. “Dad. There are levels to this that even Lydia and Isaac can’t know. I’m sorry, but I won’t risk you.”

Colonel Stilinski clenched his fists and took a measured breath. “Then what can you tell me?”

Stiles rubbed his eyes. “Marin told us there was going to be an attack. She and Lydia managed to track his location to Jehathza. The plan was to use a spell I created to contain him.”

“Where was the attack supposedly going to occur?” Peter interjected, ever hungry for information.

“Paris.” Lydia supplied when Stiles only narrowed his eyes at Peter and refused to answer. 

“Why Paris?” Peter pressed. Lydia and Stiles shared a quick look.

“We don’t know.” Derek didn’t need to hear their heartbeats to know that was a lie.

“Why didn’t the spell work?” It always amazed Derek that Deaton’s soft voice could cut through others so easily.

A blush rose from Stiles’ neck to his face and Derek actively ignored how much he thought it suited the man. “I underestimated him. He was too strong.”

“Could you find his location again?” Laura asked the million dollar question.

Stiles shrugged. “Theoretically.”

Laura narrowed her eyes. “How?”

“It’s possible Deucalion’s last location retained a trace of his magic. Theoretically, Stiles could use it to find him.” Lydia stressed theoretically more than Derek would have liked. 

“That’s what you were doing when we picked you up.”

“You mean when you shot me?” Stiles indignantly shouted and pointed a finger at Derek. Derek fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes, that’s what we were doing.” Lydia confirmed helpfully. “It’s the best chance we have at tracking him down and containing him before he regains power.”

Lydia and Stiles shot meaningful looks at the Colonel who glared in return. “If you think I am sending you three idiots back out there again, you’re kidding yourselves. You,” he pointed at Stiles “are grounded for life.”

“You can’t do that!” Stiles squawked in a flail of limbs. “I’m not even a minor anymore!”

“And you two,” the Colonel continued, ignoring Stiles and pointing to Lydia and Isaac. “will be sent straight back to that academy. I’m sure both your parents will be overjoyed to know what you’ve been up to.”

“Mr. Stilinski, you and I both know that neither Isaac nor I will return to that school without Stiles. In addition, my parents and Isaac’s will care little where we have been. Regardless, I think we can all agree that Stiles is our best hope.” Lydia’s gaze was piercing, her intelligence shinning through undiluted. “Do you have a better plan?”

Stiles glanced at his father, clearly sensing imminent victory. The Colonel dragged at hand over his face, coming to rest on his nose, pinching the bridge. "Fine. You leave in the morning."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Any comments or suggestions are always welcome!


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